


Freaky Friday

by kaitlia777



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bodyswap, Crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 07:46:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16850002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitlia777/pseuds/kaitlia777
Summary: Prompt: Due to some sort of accident or a mission gone awry, Steve switches bodies with a teammate. Embarrassment gives way to curiosity, and curiosity eventually gives way to sex. Can be set in the 40's or present day





	Freaky Friday

Years of intensive training had left Natasha Romanoff with the ability to go from deep sleep to wakefulness in an instant. No half aware fuzziness for her. One moment she was dreaming and the next she was ready to begin her day.

Today was no exception, her eyes popping open as her mind kicked into gear. Almost instantly, she became aware that something was…wrong.

The ceiling above her was painted a soft, off-white and the walls a warm beige. Blue curtains fluttered by the open windows (she never left her windows open), through which she could see a maple tree, leaves turned fiery reds and oranges by the changing seasons. There was a sturdy dresser against one wall and an armchair by the window and she could see a blue & white checked comforter covering her body.

She recognized none of this.

But it was her body that disturbed her most. Nothing hurt, but, after a lifetime, one knew how their body should feel. At present, nothing seemed right and she moved her hands under the comforter, physically feeling her body.

Broad, smooth chest. Thick, powerful biceps. Hard, flat stomach with a light treasure trail leading to the waistline of a pair of cotton pants. Swallowing, she slid her fingers past the elastic band…yup, that was a dick.

Natasha yanked her hand back, kicking her legs free of the blanket and rolling to her feet. There was a small wall mirror mounted above the dresser and she caught sight of her reflection.

"Well, fuck," she muttered, looking at the familiar features of Steve Rogers.

This was both interesting and distressing.

It took only moments for her to realize what had (more than likely) happened.

Yesterday, Natasha had been sipping coffee in the break room, watching with amusement as Steve constructed an enormous ham sandwich. Bruce, practically vibrating with excitement, had popped in and practically dragged them down to his lab to show them his latest experiment, an attempt to develop computer assisted mind to mind communication. It had many practical battlefield applications…if it worked.

Bruce thought he'd finally worked out the kinks and pointed them toward two chimps wearing odd headsets.

Fortunately, when Bruce's strange machine exploded, emitting an odd, blue pulse, the animals had not been harmed. The pulse dissipated quickly, not penetrating the bank of computers Bruce stood behind and doing no noticeable damage to Steve and Natasha.

After a few dozen tests, they'd been released, feeling fine. She still felt fine, just in the wrong body.

Heaving a beleaguered sigh, she shook her head, wondering if she could kick Banner's Hulked out ass in Rogers' body. The strength she could feel coursing through Cap's muscles was…exhilarating.

Simple deduction told her that, if she was in Rogers' body, he must be in hers. In her Manhattan penthouse.

This must be Cap's Brooklyn home. She'd never been here before, but she was aware that Fury had arranged a house for him not too far from where Steve had grown up. It seemed to have made the time lost man feel less adrift, having a place of his own to get away from S.H.E.I.L.D. HQ.

Deciding on her course of action, Natasha stepped toward a door she rightly assumed was a closet. She blinked at the neatly hung oxford and plaid shirts, the unfortunate, pleated trousers. She located the one pair of blue jeans, tossing them onto the bed as she moved to the dresser. In short order, she found a white t-shirt, socks and a pair of boxers.

In another situation, she would have spent a few moments perusing Rogers' body, as it was rather fabulous. She did note that little (and she used that term ironically) Steve was as impressive as the rest of him. Instead, she was businesslike in dropping the pale blue pajama pants and stepping into the boxers and socks before donning the jeans and t-shirt. Three pairs of shoes (sneakers, boots and dress) were lined up neatly under the side of the bed. Natasha chose the boots, then ran her fingers through Rogers's hair as she left the room.

The bathroom was as neat as the bedroom, as were the kitchen and living room. She grabbed the brown leather jacket from its hook and scooped the wallet and keys from the small table beside the door.

As she descended the stairs, she glanced back to look at the house. It was a well-kept brownstone beside a tiny park with a few trees and a neat patch of grass. A few women sat on a bench, young children playing nearby. One of them waved at her…at Steve.

Natasha returned the gesture, turning toward where Rogers' motorcycle was parked. Before she reached it, she was Intercepted by a tiny, elderly woman.

"Good morning, Steve," she said with a warm smile.

Shit. "Morning, Ma'am."

She patted Natasha's leather clad forearm. "Now, dear, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Rose?" Her white hair was curly and she looked like every grandmother Natasha saw on TV. "It just wanted to thank you for your help the other day. Those air conditioners are so heavy!"

"They are," Natasha agreed, then tried to answer as she thought Steve would have. "It was no trouble, Ma'am. I'm sorry, but I have to run. Emergency at the office."

Rose nodded and gave her another pat. "You go on, dear. I'm making some oatmeal cookies. My granddaughter, Sophie, I told you about her, will drop some by later."

With that, she tottered off, leaving Natasha to mount the powerful, specially modified motorcycle. Rogers had let Stark tinker with the vehicle and she could tell it was far more powerful than it had been when it left the factory floor. She felt the wind chapping her cheeks as she gunned the engine, flying through the streets toward the Brooklyn Bridge.

Though it was a Saturday morning, New York was never without traffic. It took a while for her to reach her building and, when she entered the lobby, she gave the doorman a curt nod.

Rogers had never been to her place before, but she walked with confidence and purpose. If you looked like you believed you belonged, people tended not to question you. This was no exception to that rule and she reached the elevator without incident. Opening the small, concealed keypad, she punched in the security code that would allow the lift to make the long trip to her penthouse.

Once there, she entered yet another code, now understanding Rogers' distaste for tiny cell phones. His fingers were not made for manipulating micro buttons. Stark was running a pool on how many cell phones Steve and Thor would each destroy.

Entering her apartment, she looked around, noting that nothing seemed out of place. Her home, with its clean lines and black leather modern aesthetic, was as different from Steve's house (décor by L.L. Bean) as possible. She strode through the vast space of the living room and down a short hall, pushing open the heavy double doors that led into her bedroom.

Natasha remembered coming home the night before, eating a light dinner before stripping and tumbling into bed.

It was extremely odd, seeing herself lying in her bed, clearly tense under the graphite colored comforter. Her hands clenched at the cover and her lips repeatedly mouthed the words, "This is a very strange dream. Time to wake up, Steve!"

Over and over.

Clearly, Rogers wasn't taking this Freaky Friday body-swap thing well at all.

"Rogers," she said gruffly, giving the base of the bed a light kick. "Snap out of it!"

He stopped mumbling and opened his eyes (her eyes, damn, this was weird!) and gaped. It was obvious he was feeling the same sense of head twisting wrongness and displacement that she had.

"What…How…Is this…?"

"Yeah, this is happening and yeah, it's all kinds of fucked up," she replied briskly, slapping him on the leg. "Get Up, get dresses and let's go see about making Banner fix us."

* * *

When Steve had woken up, every part of his rational mind had screamed that he was still dreaming. It was the only explanation that made any sense, as people did not randomly swap bodies with their colleagues.

Not even in the admittedly crazy 21st Century.

So he'd done the only sane thing he could think of. He closed his eyes and waited until he woke up again.

The next time he opened his eyes, he stared at himself in shock.

This was actually happening. Natasha was in his body, had obviously dressed in his clothes and was ordering him to do the same. She even kicked the bed, making it skid several inches to the right.

"Could you hand me something to put on?" he asked, trying not to marvel at Natasha's voice speaking his words.

Why couldn't she have worn night clothes? He'd at least be able to get out of bed if she had.

Natasha snorted indelicately, but she crossed the room, opened a drawer and flung a small bundle of cloth at him.

Feeling his face burn, Steve picked up the tiny scrap of lace she seemed to consider underwear and shimmied into them without emerging from the modesty protecting blanket. The bra however….

"How does this thing work?" he asked, picking up the garment and regarding it with confusion and distaste.

With a sigh, Natasha reached out and grasped Steve's arm, pulling him into a sitting position. He let out a squawk as full, milk white breasts and rosy nipples were revealed. When he closed his eyes, Natasha growled, "Oh, lighten up," and wrestled his arms into the straps, closing the clasp. "You're going to have to look sooner or later…no funny business though."

"I wouldn't!" he protested, opening his eyes and realizing she was teasing him. How was she so calm about this?

He rose from the bed, swaying for a moment as he became accustomed to the altered center of gravity. Everything seemed so much bigger than it should, especially his own body and he felt a stab, remembering the years she'd lived as a little guy.

Trying not to glance at the expanse of skin visible in the mirror, Steve padded over to Natasha's closet and stared at the enormous selection of clothing. He wasn't exactly up on women's fashion, but he had no real idea what to do with…this stuff. When Natasha pushed past him to take over, he was relieved.

At least until he saw what she was handing him.

Leather pants, a red, silky blouse with a low neckline and 5 inch heels.

Steve grasped one of the stilettos and said, "I can't walk in these."

She gave him a look and planted her hands on her hips (his hips!) and considered him. "Put on the rest and I'll pick some flats," she finally conceded.

Steve decided he could live with the compromise and went to work getting into the leather. It was difficult to button the blouse without touching her chest, but he finally managed. While he laced up the black combat boots, Natasha wrangled his hair (her hair) into a ponytail.

A half hour later, they were making their way through the halls of S.H.E.I.L.D. HQ. Bruce hadn't been in his office, but they found him in the break room, having a coffee with Clint and Thor while Tony Stark waxed rhapsodic about some new piece of hardware he was working on.

Clint saw them first, smiling and tossing a wink at Steve as he said, "Morning."

Oh, I can't deal with that, Steve thought, but Natasha took charge, bellowing, "Why the hell did your machine do this!"

She stalked toward Bruce, finger outstretched accusingly. On a good day, Steve found Natasha scary. Today, trapped in his body, which he'd never known could look so imposing, she loomed over Banner like a cranky giant.

Bruce, Clint and Tony reacted to the unusual display with varying degrees of surprise. Thor simply looked curious, as though he thought this might just be another behavioral quirk of humans that he hadn't become accustomed to yet.

When Natasha physically put hands on Bruce, grabbing a large fistful of the man's lab coat, Steve acted, wrapping her hands around her forearm.

His forearm…which her tiny hands couldn't begin to circle.

"Natasha, stop!" he barked in her smoky tones.

That caught everyone's attention. All eyes, save Natasha's, swiveled to him, even Bruce's and he was half dangling from Natasha's fist.

No one spoke until Tony said, "Well, this is special!"

It didn't break the crackling tension in the room, but Natasha dropped Bruce with a growl. Crossing her arms, she glanced down at the scientist. "How are you going to fix this?" she demanded crossly.

Bruce licked his lips. "What exactly is wrong?"

"A lot," Steve muttered ruefully and Natasha rolled her eyes expressively.

"Your little mind reading toy body swapped us!" she said unhappily and Steve nodded in agreement. He couldn't have put it any better.

Again, Tony was the first to react, pushing himself to his feet and circling the table. He peered up at Natasha, then down at Steve. The gaze was probing and Steve crossed his arms, jumping and flinging them wide when he realized the action caused him to touch Natasha's breasts. "Sorry!" he let out a yelp, knowing he was blushing again.

Tony and Clint smirked. They would tease him mercilessly. Natasha gave him an exasperated look, while Bruce stared at them like they were a fascinating science experiment. Thor just blinked. Honestly, Steve couldn't fault his confusion. Often enough these modern people seemed alien to him and he was from this planet.

"I can't begin to theorize how this happened," Bruce was saying excitedly. "We should go down to my lab…."

As she hurried the scientist toward the door, Natasha said, "It's damn clear what happened!"

Steve followed, Tony and the others on his heels. He wasn't overly fond of Bruce's labs, or rather, the vague air of mad scientist the man gave off. Even during the actual procedure that enhanced his body, Steve knew Erskine had seen him as a man. Occasionally, he thought Bruce regarded him as a successful experiment…his friend, but still an experiment.

Considering Bruce seemed more comfortable with his experiments than he did with most people, Steve wondered if that might be why the man liked him.

"When did this happen?" Tony asked as they strolled down the hall, draping a friendly arm around Steve's shoulders. His tone was serious, but Steve had been around the man long enough to know that the teasing had begun.

"I woke up like this," Steve said, for once eager to arrive at a lab.

On his other side, Clint snickered. "What'd you think of Natasha's PJ's?"

"Oh, I'm intrigued," Tony practically purred as Steve once again went red.

"Stop that!" Natasha declared from further down the hall. Again, she had her hands on her hips and Steve thought the out-thrust hip detracted somewhat from her otherwise intimidating look. "Don't give him a stroke while he's in my body!"

Ducking out from under Tony's arm, Steve took all of two steps when a voice boomed down the corridor.

"What's this about people being in the wrong bodies?"

Nick Fury had arrived.

* * *

"How many times do we need to go over the protocols for testing your experiments?"

Nick Fury was pissed off.

"Wasn't me this time!" Stark said in a jovial tone and Fury sighed.

"Mr. Stark, it might not have been you this time, but it has been often enough," Fury growled. His eye bored into the Avengers assembled in the charred remains of Banner's lab. If he had their story straight, Natasha was stuck in Cap's body and vice versa. Anyone looking at the pair of them could clearly see something was off, as Steve's physical body looked ready to toss someone through a wall, while Natasha's was sitting mildly on a stool, hands folded on the table.

"To be fair," Dr. Banner was saying, pointing at two headsets lying dormant on a lab bench, "I was using chimps as test subjects, not people…and neither Buster nor Chucky was harmed."

"The ASPCA will be thrilled," Fury grumbled, then pointed to Steve and Natasha, "But how do you intend to fix your teammates?"

Banner bit his lip. "See, that might be a little more difficult, as the device that switched them only did so while overloading and, as you can see, it's not in any real condition to give us clear answers, what with the heat and fire retardant damage…."

A low snarl erupted from Natasha and even Fury had to admit (to himself) that her brain and temper in Cap's body was more than a little terrifying. The edge of the table was beginning to warp under her hand and the others seemed to be reacting in a variety of ways.

Bruce looked understandably unnerved.

Thor was gazing at them all like he thought they were highly amusing.

Tony seemed torn between interest in the destroyed machine and wanting to hover around Steve.

Clint had been looking at the damage that Natasha was doing to the table and he seemed more intrigued than scared.

Dear Lord, the boy had no sense of self preservation.

"Stark, help Banner rebuild…whatever this was. Romanoff, Rogers, get down to medical, I want a full battery of tests. Barton, Thor…just do whatever you normally do," Fury said, putting enough of a 'don't fuck with me on this' tone into his voice that even Stark reluctantly complied.

Fury herded Natasha and Steve to the infirmary himself before calling Agent Coulsen down to oversee the situation. After he'd given the younger man a brief overview of the situation, Coulsen stared at him, horror mingling with disbelief. "Sir, please tell me you're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

"Never. Which is why it's hard to tell when you actually are."

Though Fury thought he had to give Coulsen some points for that response, he simply tossed a thumb at where Natasha was glowering at a particularly nervous looking nurse. "Go ask them if they're joking," he said, then turned on his heel.

As he walked down the hall, he could hear Coulsen's voice, raised, calling, "Natasha! Don't shake the doctor!"

Sometimes, it was good to be the boss.

* * *

"Why couldn't I just go home to eat?"

Somehow, though it had been Thor who suggested they all grab dinner at Calle Ocho, a Latin Fusion place he had become fond of, Steve had a sneaking suspicion that Tony had planted the idea in his mind. As letting Thor wander the city alone usually led to incidents that made Fury shout and Coulsen cringe (Though really, the police hadn't been too upset the last time Thor had gotten drunk and decided to take a ride on the Central Park horses), they all found themselves sharing a large booth.

Natasha, who'd disappeared with Maria Hill for several hours around lunch time, was sprawled in her seat, looking quite smug. In theory, Steve couldn't fault her for the clothes she had chosen, dark wash blue jeans and a white Henley, but the execution….

How was she comfortable wearing denim that tight? The shirt was equally body hugging and, considering the fact that he'd worn little than a colorful body stocking during his USO tour, for him to think something looked tight meant it had to be close to cutting off critical circulation.

Add to that the fact that Natasha was exuding something that had women and men tripping over themselves to get near her….

How did she do that? It certainly didn't happen when he was the one in his body. And why had Tony patted him on the head and called him adorable when he asked that question?

"Do you have this at your dwelling?" Thor asked, indicating the massive plate of….

"I don't even know what that is," Steve said, staring at the plate of spicy vegetables, topped with some sort of fried, gutted creature.

Ripping off one of its legs, Thor proclaimed, "Pork from the land called Guinea. It is delicious."

Everyone at the table watched the large blond man tear the flesh from the bone with his teeth. After a moment, Clint asked, "A guinea pig? Seriously?"

"Yes," Thor replied happily, ripping free the second leg and gnawing on it.

Steve pulled his plate of fish tacos protectively toward himself, but didn't touch it again. "If you say so," he said, then peered into his empty beer. One of the nice things about being in Natasha's body (God, that sounded so dirty!) was that he could get a little buzz.

Not much of one, as she seemed to have a very high tolerance for alcohol, but it was more than he could normally manage.

"I'll be back," Steve said, and, as always happened when he uttered that phrase, the others chuckled. He shook his head, grabbing his glass and made his way to the bar.

He was leaning against the bar, waiting for the bartender to return with his drink, when he became aware that someone was standing a bit too close. Glancing up until laughed, Steve saw the leering face of a drunken frat boy.

Not this again. One of his brethren had attempted to pick Steve up earlier, when he'd gone to use the restroom (he'd tried to go into the men's room, but Clint had been headed there himself and nudged Steve towards the ladies…which was far cleaner than any men's room Steve had ever seen) and it was darn unnerving. He still couldn't believe how forward men were toward young ladies (or what they thought was a young lady) nowadays.

"Hey there, pretty lady. Looking for some company?"

Really? Steve didn't consider himself a ladies man, but even he could think of a better pickup line than that.

Still, he'd been raised to be polite. "No, thank you. I'm here with friends."

"We could be friends," frat boy smirked, leaning close as Steve heaved a sigh.

"Oh, for Pete's sake! I'm a guy!"

Maybe not the most tactful response, but it sent the frat boy running.

Steve hid his smile and a sip of beer, then made his way back to the table. Bruce was looking a bit green (nauseous, not Hulk) as he watched Clint take a tentative bite of guinea pig. From the glee on Tony's face, it was clear he'd egged him on and Natasha was giving them all look that said, I'm surrounded by children.

"Huh," Clint grunted, cocking his head to the side and licking grease from his thumb. "Tastes like chicken."

Bruce snorted. "You say that about everything."

"Even MRE macaroni and cheese," Natasha added, not moving from her carefully posed sprawl.

"All MRE's taste like chicken," Clint insisted, then looked at Steve for support. "Am I right?"

Steve shrugged. "Sounds like MRE's have improved since my day. Ours tasted like sawdust and salt."

"Hmmm," Stark mused, sounding thoughtful. "Maybe I'll mention that to Pepper, see if our people can whip up something more palatable. Just because they're in a war zone doesn't mean our fighting men and women wouldn't like a nice fondue every now and then."

For a moment, Steve froze, then laughter burst out of him like water from a busted damn. Everyone at the table stared at him in shock as he roared, clutching his sides. They didn't understand.

Some minutes later, he managed, "… Plane… Combat zone… Howard said… I thought it was something untoward!..."

He dissolved into gasping giggles again, bent over and wondering if Tony or Natasha had been adding hard liquor to his beer. A touch on his cheek made him jump, but Thor was simply using the table cloth to wipe Steve's face.

He hadn't known he was crying.

Around the table his colleagues were looking at him with mingled expressions of discomfort and amusement. Except Thor, who just looked worried.

"Can I go home now?" Steve asked no one in particular and, after long and confusing day, he was finally released.

"You do have a guest room?" Natasha asked as she rose with Steve.

He gave her a puzzled look. "Yes. Why?"

Rolling her eyes, she said, "Because my doorman might think it odd for me to arrive home alone looking like this."

She waved a hand to indicate his body, which was still housing her mind.

She made a good point.

Looking back, Steve was pretty sure Clinton Tony made a bet at that moment, but, when asked, both men refused to comment.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're so inclined, feel free to come say hi over at my tumblr [HERE](http://blaineandsamevanderson.tumblr.com/) . Always nice to make fandom and shipping friends!


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